fearLess
by BurntMyWater
Summary: A string of vicious murders is being committed in Karakura Town, and the killer is nowhere to be found. He leaves no evidence, no trace, and where Soul Society is concerned, no newly-deceased soul. But when a young woman attempts to save another girl from becoming the killer's latest victim, she sets in motion a chain of events that will change life, and death, forever.
1. Author's Corner

Hello all. Many thanks for checking out this story. I do realise that I am writing for a niche market. A limited audience if you will. Additionally, this is my National Service year, so progress will be slow going.

Well, this is where I write the disclaimer because I can't be arsed to write it over and over again.

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or Vocaloid, or any of the characters associated with them. All copyright goes to Tite Kubo and Crypton Future Media.**

There. Now I understand some people like to read Author's Notes and some don't. I personally loathe it when author's interrupt the fic with an A/N right in the middle. So as not to interrupt your reading experience, I shall post all A/N's below this line and update it every chapter. You can check back here if you like that kind of thing.

**A/N**

Chapter 1

Well, well! First chapter! I've been wanting to write a Vocaloid X Bleach crossover for a long time. But I needed a story that was more complex and believable than the typical 'Aizen does bad shit'. If anything in the story confuses you, let it be known;

**I consider everything that happened after the Soul Society Arc NONEXISTENT. The Soul Society Arc was the best one in my opinion.**

****A pity that the anime screwed up the Bount Arc.

* * *

So please, stick around. We'll be in for quite a ride. And don't forget to leave your reviews. Take your time! Enjoy the story. Share it with your friends! Share it with your enemies!

BurntMyWater out.


	2. 1) Life

"Another one huh?" the detective said. He was a large man in his late forties. Age was catching up to him, made evident by the streaks of grey that ran through his once jet-black hair. He smoothed it back, his hair damp from the light autumn shower. The name plate on his uniform read 'HASHIMOTO' in bold white letters.

Hashimoto turned up his coat collar, grumbling at the rain that trickled steadily down the back of his neck. He stepped closer to the corpse on the ground. Young woman, maybe twenty-one years old. Brown shoulder-length hair. No ID. That would make identification a whole lot more difficult. He stepped back, allowing the forensics techs to snap their photos. Casting a seasoned eye over the crime scene, he noted the condition of the body. It was uninjured aside from the gaping wound in the abdomen. Blood pooled from the hole, but the spatter was minimal. This had been a clean kill. Very quick, very efficient. The victim lay on her side, curled in the fetal position. It was ironic, he mused, that most bodies were found like this. As helpless in death as they had been at birth.

He knelt, hoping to get a better angle . She'd been stabbed only once. Enough to incapacitate, but not enough to kill her outright. This victim had bled out. She'd died in agony, and the haunted look in her cold, dead eyes served only to confirm it. He could see the crime taking place in his mind's eye.

_Killer grabs victim, holds her down. Victim struggles, cries for help. Killer stabs her in abdomen. Wound is deep, causes hypovolemic shock. Killer escapes. Victim is left to die of blood loss._

The victim was about his daughter's age. _Oh god, what if the killer got them? _His thoughts drifted away, to his two daughters studying in Inazawa. He wondered how they were doing. He wished he could be with them, if only to keep them safe. But no, he had responsibilities here. He couldn't just abandon the force. He shook his head, tearing himself away from thoughts of his daughters. He had a killer to catch. This girl, she wasn't the first victim. She was the fourth. Three other murders in the past month. And the victim's profiles weren't consistent either. The first had been a n elderly man. The next a teenaged boy. Then a little girl. It was possible that there was more than one killer, but Hashimoto doubted that. Karakura was a small town; there wouldn't be multiple killers stalking the streets. The cases _had_ to be connected somehow. It had to be the same guy behind it all.

Of course, the media loved the serial killer theory. Already they'd started running articles in the newspaper, calling it the 'crime of the century' and the work of 'The Karakura Reaper'. It was baseless really. The police had yet to find a pattern. Most serial killers had one. But this one was different. He never left any special marks on the victims. He wasn't killing for recognition. He killed because, as diverse as his victims were, they all had something he wanted. Hashimoto scratched his head in frustration. He couldn't for the life of him fathom what that might be. He left the scene, ducking under the police barrier that the other policemen had erected. The rain intensified, sending the forensics team scrambling to the body, hoping to collect vital evidence before it could be washed away. Hashimoto decided to let the geeks back in forensics analyse the body first. Maybe they would find something useful.

_KARAKURA REAPER STRIKES AGAIN_. The newspaper headlines screamed, begging whoever was looking to read the article. But Megurine Luka was too busy to read the newspaper. Busy dumping the papers on people's doorsteps. The stacks of newspaper were heavy and the morning air was cold, but she needed the money. It was still dark outside, but she could hear the sounds of people stirring, getting ready to face the day ahead. Students would be putting on uniforms, grabbing books, gathering their belongings before heading to school. She'd been like that once. It had only been a few years ago, but to Luka it felt like a memory from eons past. If she concentrated hard enough, she could still remember frantically ironing her uniform, grabbing her kendo gear before rushing out the door. She smiled. She'd loved kendo. She'd been vice-president of the club at school, even making it to the national tournament. Luka remembered thinking she would be a star, somebody famous. And here she was, delivering newspapers and a second job.

Her mood soured and she threw the next set of newspapers on the floor with more force than was strictly necessary. It made a loud _smack_ as it bounced off the door, having been incorrectly aimed. Luka hurried away in case the occupant had heard. She walked along the corridor, the stack in her arms becoming smaller and smaller as she went. Then she would get on her bicycle and haul **more** newspapers to another building. Then she'd do it again. And again. And again until she had none left. Then it was off to her day job as a waitress at a cheap restaurant, where middle-aged men leered at her while she served them lunch. They would make lewd orders and obscene gestures, and it was her job to smile politely and act like nothing was wrong. She would try not to notice the way they ogled the waitresses, mopping their sweaty brows while they stared goggle-eyed. If she was lucky, she would survive until evening and she would get to her night job as a bike courier. She would ride around town, waiting for a call. Some nights were busy. Others went by painfully slowly. And when it was all over and the day was done, the next day would begin and she'd repeat the cycle. Eighteen hours a day, six days a week. All to support a life that she didn't think was worth living.

But that was life wasn't it? You were given a shot, and if you screwed up, that was it. So she grit her teeth and slogged on, trying to make enough money to survive in this economy. Luka stopped in front of an elevator, the doors held shut by it pneumatic clamps. She struggled with the stack of paper in her arms as she attempted to press the call button. Before she could do so, the doors slid open with a _whoosh_. A slim high school girl stepped out, her green hair jarring against the dull metallic interior of the elevator. She was dressed in her school uniform, a bright pink hoodie worn over it to protect her from the autumn chill. Luka felt a pang of jealousy shoot through her as she watched the girl leave. She would give anything to be like that girl again.

* * *

Miku stepped out of the elevator, coming face-to-face with the newspaper delivery woman. Miku prided herself on being a polite girl, so she smiled and waved cheerily. The woman's only response was to cast a baleful look at her. Perhaps she wasn't a morning person. Miku ignored her rudeness and zipped up her jacket for extra warmth. She shivered slightly and wished that she'd worn thicker leggings under her skirt. It was too late to turn back and change. She'd probably make it to school just on time as it was.

She quickened her pace, not wanting to be late. She rounded a corner and her school came into view. Karakura High School. Miku could see the school gates. They were still open, but the student councillor on duty was standing guard. She was looking at her watch, counting the seconds to the first bell of the day. Miku tried to slip by unnoticed, but the councillor looked up as she got nearer, shooting her a stern glare. The bell chimed in the background, announcing to anyone outside that they were officially late.

"Hatsune-san! On the dot _again_ I see." she said sharply, hands on hips. She was drawing herself p to her full height, trying to appear taller and more commanding. Miku put on her most pitiful face, locking eyes with her. Dark brown eyes held her own green ones. The stare was fierce, but there was a softness in those eyes that ultimately betrayed the girl.

The councillor sighed, raising a hand to run her fingers through her light brown hair. She smoothed down her short hair, adjusting the red hair clip that sat in in her boyish fringe to keep it out of her eyes. Her name was Kurosaki Yuzu. She was Miku's classmate and friend, maybe best friend. They were both in senior high this year.

"What am I going to do with you? Alright, fine. I'll overlook your tardiness. Just this once. But this is the last time okay?" Yuzu said. Miku smiled. Yuzu was part of the Student Council, so she often acted strict. It was just a facade; the real Yuzu wasn't like that. She was a big softie really. And that came with benefits. Breaking school rules around her wasn't such a big issue to Miku. But it had its downsides as well. Miku remembered Yuzu's crying face well, because she knew she would see it again. July 15th. A day where Yuzu would break down and her life would come to a stop. Something terrible must have happened on that date, but Miku didn't think it was appropriate to ask. It just didn't feel right. If Yuzu wanted to talk about it, she would. Until then, Miku would continue to support her best friend, even if she didn't know what the problem was. She couldn't bear to see her cry.

"Thanks Yuzu." she said, taking the councillor by the arm and practically dragging her back to class, Miku ignored Yuzu's feeble protests that she should stay to make sure that the gate was locked. Hearing the creak of rusty hinges and the clang of the gate shutting was enough confirmation for Miku. The two girls hurried back to class before their homeroom teacher could get there.

Miku slumped in her chair and closed the math book with a sharp _thwap_.

She closed her eyes . She was so tired; they felt like they'd been rubbed in sand. Or salt. Rock salt with ground glass mixed in. She _hated_ math. Why did numbers have to be so... _logical_? Couldn't they learn to appreciate the beauty in irregularity? At least her work was done. Every question had an answer in its place, neatly written in her own hand. Truthfully, some of the answers weren't actually hers, nut what mattered most to her was that she didn't have to touch the stupid book again.

Her cellphone buzzed softly in her pocket, reminding her that it would soon be time for club activities. She reluctantly opened her eyes to the glare of electric light, the fluorescent tubes above her shining mercilessly. She rubbed them half-heartedly as she put her books away. Closing her bag, she hoisted in on her shoulder and left her seat, making her way to the art room.

It was just across the hallway, but the art room seemed like a totally different world to her. Opening the door released a cloud of fumes, bombarding her with the smell of drying paint. Oils, watercolours, acrylics; it didn't matter. Their scents mingled to form a pungent, generic paint odour. She found it oddly invigorating, like it boosted her artistic side.

She'd always loved art. There was something fascinating about it. Whenever she painted, Miku felt like she was storing a piece of herself there. Her thoughts, her emotions, her life frozen and preserved on paper. How would she be different tomorrow? Each painting was a snapshot of her past self, showing her a time that she could never return to. Together, they told the story of her. The epic saga that was Hatsune Miku, eighteen year old work-in-progress. That was why she'd joined the Art Club; to continue the story. And maybe one day, when she was an old woman who had done everything, she would look at her paintings one last time and the story would be complete.

But until then, she had more painting to do, more experiences to transcribe. Today they were learning a new style. Impressionism. The teacher was holding up a painting for them to see. It looked like a face, but nothing had been rendered in detail. The artist had used bold, broad strokes; like she didn't care if they were out of place. The features were blurred, but recognisable as a human face, leaving most of the interpretation to the beholder. Miku wondered what the artist had been feeling when completing the piece. Had she struggled with her identity, leaving the features blurred to portray the depths of her insecurity? Was she disabled, leaving the face crippled and unfinished to depict living in an incomplete body?

Whatever the artist's motives had been, it was an interesting technique, one that she intended to learn and excel at. Miku put on her coveralls, tying the strings securely behind her. She picked up her favourite paintbrush, dipping it in water. She dried it off a little before dipping it in paint, the moistened bristles readily taking up the colour. Then she paused, calling to mind the events that had taken place since she last painted.

It took the better part of the evening to paint something she was satisfied with. From the moment her paintbrush had touched the canvas, she'd been sucked into a trance. She had sat there, making broad strokes with her brush, drawing the instrument across the surface in large arcs to transcribe every single detail. She leaned back, inspecting the collection of pigments and oils spread on the surface. A tired smile grew on her lips. It was done. A little shaky, this was her first try at impressionism, but it was done. She pulled her cellphone from her bag, intending to take a picture of the painting. The screen lit up at her touch, the clock function displaying the time. It was later than she'd thought. She was surprised. She had noticed the darkness outside, but that was to be expected in autumn. The days _did_ grow shorter after all. Everybody else had gone home. She was used to being the last one out though. Her fellow artists knew better than to disturb her when she was in the zone.

She discarded the apron, hanging it on the back of a nearby chair, and stepped closer to the easel. Gripping its sides firmly, she shifted it to a corner of the room to let the paint dry overnight. Miku grabbed her bag and stepped out of the classroom. She slid the door shut, then reached up, feeling around along the top of the its frame. Her fingers encountered several things. Delicate cobwebs broke at her intruding touch. Dust bunnies flitted away, afraid of her presence. Her fingers brushed against something else, something cold and hard. Ah, there it was. She retrieved the object from its hiding place, allowing it to rest in her palm. The art teacher had the terrible habit of making duplicate keys and leaving them around, just in case he locked himself out. Miku used the key to lock the door. It slid home smoothly, a metallic click signalling that it had done its job. She returned it to its home atop the door.

She padded softly across the floor, her sandaled feet making nearly no noise at all as she made her way to the shoe racks. She made haste, switching footwear quickly. There was a murderer about. She'd read it in the news on her cell. A young girl walking about at night would be the perfect target. A girl like her. She would call for someone to walk her back, but she had to leave the school; it was closing time. And she wasn't keen on waiting outside. the only thing more vulnerable than a girl walking around at night was a girl **standing** around at night. She walked out the gates, making her way home.

* * *

_**That one... Get that one...**_ the voice told him. It directed him to a girl walking on the sidewalk. A schoolgirl. He felt a little uneasy about it, but the voice reassured him.

_**It will be easy. And worth it.**_ it told him. _**Don't you want her back? Isn't she worth it? Aren't I worth it? I've helped you so much.**_

There it was again, guilt-tripping him. But it was right. He couldn't just give up, not now. In extraordinary time, great men must do extraordinary things. He was a great man. He knew that. The voice had told him so. They were partners. Friends. Besides, it had helped him, given him the strength and conviction to make up for what he'd done. Without his friend... he'd be nothing. Just another pathetic loser, wallowing in self-pity.

He flexed his arms and legs, getting ready for the task ahead. The voice was happy now, and fed more energy to his muscles. He felt refreshed and energetic, as if those hours spent crouching in a darkened window hadn't happened at all. He leapt like a monkey to the next building, swift and silent, sure in his grip. Landing on the ladder to the fire escape, he hung from it on one hand.

Like a spider monkey. Yeah, those little things he'd seen on television. They were his favourite animal this week. Last week it had been the Nile crocodile, with its big jaws that went _snap snap_. Of course, that was before he'd seen that show about spider monkeys, who were vastly superior. Crocodiles couldn't climb trees in the Amazon rainfo -

His hold on the ladder suddenly weakened, a warning from the voice as it cut off the strength to his limbs. _**Stay focused you fool. The girl. Kill her.**_ it chided softly. He obeyed, forgetting about the spider monkeys for a moment. The power immediately returned, allowing him to swing himself up and land perfectly on the fire escape's railing. The way the voice took away his power was sobering. It reminded him that all that strength was just on loan to him. It wasn't actually his to keep. Maybe they weren't friends after all.

The voice sensed his distress and acted swiftly, whispering about how it would never abandon him. How they would do great things together. And he believed it. He perched on the railing, watching the girl walk past him. He wanted to please the voice, because that was what friends did right? He was just being a good friend.

* * *

Miku walked faster, trying to move as fast as possible without alerting whoever was following her. She knew someone was following her; she could feel his gaze on her. She'd been stupid, coming home so late. And alone too! What had she been thinking? She turned her head ever so slightly, trying to get a peek at the stalker. He was still there, following her. It was a large man, a leather jacket stretched tight over his burly frame. He walked quickly, faster than her actually, so he was closing in.

_I don't want to die!_ she screamed over and over again in her head. Miku returned her attention to the path ahead of her, desperately looking for a way out of this mess. Her blood felt like it was freezing in her veins, but it helped her focus. It wasn't far to her apartment building. Could she make a run for it? She didn't know. She couldn't run very fast. She did some quick estimations. Fifty meters to the building. That meant she could get there in... oh, she didn't know. God damn mathematics.

She risked another glance. The man was still advancing rapidly. It was time to decide. Keep calm and hope for the best? Or run and alert him that she knew he was following her? The apartment building was temptingly close now. The ice in her veins was melting, the energy it released was flowing to her legs. She felt giddy. Excitement, anxiety, a thousand other emotions mingled in her gut and made her want to be sick. But she couldn't. Not now.

She broke into a desperate sprint. Her view of the building jerked left and right as her legs propelled her forward. She was fast approaching the building. The anxiety she'd felt earlier was melting away, turning into elation. She was going to make it!

A shout was heard from the man behind her. Loud footsteps followed. The man was running after, his long legs easily closing the distance between them with great strides. The fear from before returned with a vengeance, slicing through her like a blade of ice. She forced herself to go faster, drawing in quick, panicked breaths. Cold sweat trickled down her brow into her eyes, stinging as it mingles with tears that threatened to spill. Blinded, she pushed her body to its limits, knowing full well that it was futile. Her breath began to come in ragged gasps. She would have screamed if she hadn't been so breathless.

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder, halting her desperate flight. His grip was too strong for her to break. She stopped running and looked straight ahead, too afraid to turn around. But she had to. She turned slowly, dreading the moment when she would see him. He would reach into his jacket, she thought, then stab her with a knife. Soon, she was face to face with her pursuer. Sure enough, he raised a hand.

"Please don't kill me..." she whimpered and sobbed as she sank to her knees in defeat. It was over. This was it. It seemed like a trivial matter, but the one thing she couldn't stop thinking about was the painting she'd left to dry at school. She hadn't been done with it. Now she would never get to finish it.

The man stepped away from her, his face a picture of confusion. "Wait, what? I'm not here to kill anyone!" he said, shaking his head vigorously. "Geez kid. You dropped your wallet when you started running. You seemed pretty worried about something, so I figured I should give it back to ya."

He directed her attention to the blue leather wallet resting in his palm. It was indeed hers. She accepted it with shaking hands, so relieved that she began to shudder and cry.

"So, er... You have a good night okay kid?" he said awkwardly, backing away from her slowly. He left her on the ground. She sat there for a few minutes more, trying to calm down. The feeling of relief still hadn't passed, and she let it wash over her like a wave. Her breathing soon returned to normal. She looked around. The whole neighbourhood must have heard that little scene. She began to feel very embarrassed. Her face burned as colour crept into her cheeks. Thank goodness there wasn't anyone else standing around outside. She raised herself to her feet, brushing off the grit that had come from the asphalt. Miku took a step forward...

...and was once again hit by the creeping feeling that she was being watched. But she wasn't going to run again, not after what had just happened. It was probably nothing.

But there was something _other_ about the feeling this time. An additional sensation that made her sick to her stomach. She strained to pierce the gloom that lay beyond the glow of the street lamps. She turned this way and that, eyes darting from one patch of darkness to another. But everywhere she looked, she was met with shadow. Impermeable, impenetrable walls of shadow. She moved directly under one of the street lamps, placing herself directly in the center of the pool of light it cast. It was an irrational response. If she had really feared for her safety, the most logical course of action would have been to walk straight ahead, into her apartment building. It wasn't far now. But that would mean venturing past the protective circle of light, into the dark. And right now, Miku was _very_ afraid of what lurked in the dark. So she didn't leave, paralysed by fear and indecision.

One shadow in particular caught her eye. It looked solid, tangible somehow. She instinctively moved away from it, putting more light between herself and the shadow. She let out a yelp of surprise when the shadow followed, pausing at the edge of the light.

Then the shadow moved _into_ the light. It didn't disappear. It moved smoothly over the ground, flowing like oil. It's viscosity sickened her, as did its disgusting oily sheen. The black pool rose, bubbling and forming a mass. The substance began to take on the consistency of clay, which began to take shape. Legs appeared, then a torso. Arms sprouted from its sides as a head began to form. Black cloth materialized, clothing the body in a hooded cloak. The figure angled its head upwards to see the light, and its hood fell back, revealing its face.

Miku gasped in horror. There was no face. In its place was a grotesque mask in the shape of a skull. It grinned at her in twisted glee. The polished bone shone under the electric light, but the dark voids that were its eyes were left untouched. They were empty sockets, but Miku felt their gaze pierce her, as if latching on to her very soul. Rivulets of sweat travelled down the back of her neck, soaking the fabric of her blouse. Her hands clenched into fists. She felt herself beginning to shake. But she didn't fall to the ground again. This wasn't just fear, this was pure terror. And terror had its own set of responses.

Her brain shut down. She abandoned any conscious intention of going home; the monster was in her way. She turned and bolted, wanting to go somewhere, _anywhere_ but here. She screamed hoarsely for help, her throat feeling dry and scratchy like it was lined with sandpaper. Her lungs worked on overdrive just to keep her legs moving. She was running faster than before. Stress hormones were being pumped into her bloodstream, her body's primitive response to the signals sent by a panicking brain. She could probably name them. Adrenaline, cortisol; she had learned them in school. None of that mattered now. What _did_ matter was that they aided her escape.

Curiously enough, she couldn't hear the monster running after her. Of course, seeing how silently it had moved just now, it was entirely possible that it was actively pursuing her. She didn't take the risk of looking back. She didn't want to see it.

There was the soft _thwip_ of something thin flying through the air. Miku felt rope wind around her ankle. The rope was tugged hard and her foot was yanked out from under hit the floor, the impact slamming her chin against the concrete. She felt the skin tear. Her teeth clashed together, missing her tongue by mere millimetres. Miku clutched her chin, trying to stop the bleeding. Her fingers brushed against hard bone, and she realised the cut was deep. She was too full off adrenaline to feel pain. She rolled onto her back and began to get up. But it was too late. The monster had already caught up to her. Desperate, she let out a long, shrill cry, hoping that someone might come. The monster glided over to her, its feet hidden by the floor-length robes it wore. It reached out, its fingers extended not in a crushing grip, but in a surprisingly gentle caress, cradling her head tenderly. Its bony fingers were cold and hard against her skin.

Its grip tightened, and she felt it turning her head so it could look her in the eye. The darkness in those sockets spoke of unspeakable terrors that lay within. Oily shadows began to seep into the corners of her vision. She went limp against her will, transfixed by the sight. The monster opened its mouth, revealing a soft blue light in its throat.

It was then that Miku felt an indescribable feeling of pain. It was like a steel hand had smashed through her chest and taken hold of her heart. Then it had _squeezed_. She was choking, her attempts to resist futile. Her body refused to respond to her commands, poisoned by the monster's hypnotic gaze. The mouth opened wider still, wider than any human jaw's range of motion. It dislocated with a _crack_, the lower jaw unhinging itself from the rest of the skull. Miku fought valiantly to stay conscious, but she was losing and she knew it. The darkness bled into her vision, further proof of her impending demise.

There was another loud _crack_, and the darkness in her vision retreated, vanishing instantaneously. Miku coughed and gasped lungfuls of sweet air. The monster was bent over, clutching at its face. A short distance away, where it had been standing, stood a lone woman. Her long pink hair was illuminated by the street lights, creating a surreal effect. She clutched a pipe in one hand, her knuckles white from the strength of her grip.

"Get up. Run!" the woman yelled. Miku didn't need any further instruction. She got up, wincing as she put weight on her ankle. It was the one that had been grabbed. She had fallen on it earlier, possibly spraining or breaking it. She limped away, glancing back at her saviour. The woman took a deep breath and shifted the pipe into a balanced, two-handed grip. Her entire body fell into some kind of fighting stance. Kendo perhaps? The monster recovered and looked at its new opponent with pure hatred.

Miku looked away. The monster was distracted; now was her chance to escape. She continued to limp away, concentrating on not falling over. She had to find help. The police. They would know what to do.


End file.
